4.
The afternoon was in full swing at the dropship camp as Clarke returned, and the bustle of activity was a far cry from the peace of the forest - although no less comforting. She wasn't sure which settled her more, and that thought in itself spread a warmth through her bones and hid a small smile on her lips. This was home now; not just the camp, but the forest. The Earth. Stepping through the gate, she nodded at the guard, a red-headed boy named Lyle.
"How're things?" Clarke asked, and earned a bit of an odd smile in response. Strained? Was he feeling okay? His complexion was no paler than normal - his light freckles having defiantly refused to darken under the fall's insistent sunlight.
"Holding together all right. Miller had a right fright this morning with both you and Bellamy out of camp, though." Lyle offered. A frown creased Clarke's brow, and she hissed at the pain it sent zipping across her forehead - the bruise. That explains the look she'd gotten, at least. "Where d'ya sneak off to so early, any way, little Fox? I didn't notice you were out of the gate until I saw the back of your head disappear into the trees. Made me feel pretty shit as a guard, y'know." Little fox? Clarke wrinkled her nose a bit, enjoying the mental image of a fox kit bounding around the clearing. There was a fox near the camp that the guards liked to keep tabs on. It usually crept about around dusk.
"What did he need?" Clarke asked, noting the flash of disappointment that flickered across the guard's face as she glazed over his question. She'd assumed it to be rhetorical, and found herself a little out of her element now that it seemed that it'd been legitimate. Thoughts warred within her, her survivalism growling warnings at her optimism. Did he truly care where she'd been? Bellamy had mentioned that perhaps she'd garnered some degree of endearment in the camp. But with knowledge came power, and Clarke was hesitant to offer the intimacies of her whereabouts without due cause...
"You'd probably have to ask him." Lyle's brusk response ended Clarke's internal debate, and she glanced into camp. Miller stood by the base of the dropship, talking to Bellamy, whose arms were crossed over his chest in a position that promised nothing good. Glancing back at the Lyle, Clarke found herself struck by how much she needed to look up at him to make contact. Had he grown in the weeks since they'd been there?
"Thanks for letting me know." Clarke said, trying to lace as much sincerity into her words as she could manage. If there was a stirring in the camp in her favor, she didn't want to squash it. She turned to walk through the gate, and found herself conflicted: it felt clinical to ignore Lyle's question, as though she were manipulating him, using him for support. It felt dishonest. If they trusted her, should she not return their efforts with all she could? Leaders must be vulnerable. Otherwise, they are tyrants. Right?
"I need to close the gate, Clarke..." Lyle mumbled, the reservation in his tone making her choice for her.
"I was out running," Clarke answered, turning to face him fully and registering the surprise in his face, "I've been going out most mornings. Helps keep me calm." Lyle seemed to absorb this for a moment, before a broad smile spread across his freckle-dusted cheeks.
"Still gotta close the gate." He said, reaching out to gently guide her inside. Clarke jumped a little as his long fingers curled around her shoulder, and her stomach flipped - it sent jitters through her system, not unlike the sensation of stepping into the lake without being able to see the bottom. Not a pleasant feeling... But not wholly revolting, either. Clarke took a deep breath, and smiled, stepping in time with Lyle and murmuring a quick 'thank you' before making her way to the dropship. Baby steps.
"Clarke. Glad you're here." Miller was the first to acknowledge her arrival at the ship, and Clarke nodded at him, glancing at a bandage on his calf, stark against his darker skin where he'd rolled up his pant leg. "It's nothing, got some poison oak I don't want to risk spreading." He answered her questioning gaze, and Clarke chuckled. The honor of their first poison oak encounter had gone to Monty, after he had particularly bad luck trying to find a new spot for their latrine. It was the hardest most of the hundred had laughed since landing, which hadn't helped the poor boy's discomfort one bit.
"You were looking for me?" She asked, glancing to where Bellamy stood, arms still firmly folded. The muscles of his forearm was dancing as he clenched and unclenched rhythmically, a sure sign he was stressed. Their gazes crossed as he swept his steely focus to Miller, and Clarke could almost hear him instruct his second to disclose whatever they'd been discussing. There were days when Clarke wondered if Bellamy wasn't really some kind of psychic, given the ease with which he seemed to communicate with eyes and frowns alone.
"It's about the traps we've been finding outside camp." Miller began, the hesitance in his tone sending tremors down Clarke's spine.
"Traps? You've found more?" She interrupted, earning a glare from Bellamy and a nervous gulp from Miller. Nervous? He was never nervous. Apprehensive, maybe, but Miller's nerves were firmly in his control. What was going on?
"Yes, but it's not the number. It's the traps themselves." Miller hesitated a moment more, before bracing himself and schooling an expression of nonchalance on his face. Clarke was suddenly aware of the aura of concern that must have surrounded the three highest-ranking of the hundred, and forced her own shoulders to relax. Miller was right. No need to cause panic about the camp without good reason. "They weren't set by Grounders." Annnnd there was the good reason.
"What?!" Clarke hissed, her eyes flying wide. Bellamy clasped a firm hand around her shoulder, squeezing hard and forcing her to fold back away from Miller. "One of the hundred?" She asked, holding her voice as even as she could manage. She must have done alright, because Bellamy's vice grip disappeared.
"I don't think so." As if on cue, Miller flickered his gaze once more to Bellamy. Clarke waited patiently, having accepted days ago that when in Bellamy's presence, Miller occupied a firmly beta position: he wouldn't share without his alpha's express say-so. "I think it's someone else for the Ark." Now it was Clarke's turn to cast a questioning gaze towards Bellamy, who dropped his chin in as close to a nod as he could manage without attracting too much attention.
"The mechanics are perfect, but the construction is shoddy." Bellamy explained. Clarke picked up where he'd left off, forming her own understanding even as she spoke.
"Which you're interpreting to mean somebody who is well-studied, but is unfamiliar with materials on Earth." She concluded. Miller nodded grimly. "Why can't it be one of us?"
"The poison oak." Bellamy began, and Clarke frowned. He continued, an odd purse to his lip. Clarke glanced over her shoulder to see the guards looking their way, Lyle's forehead creased. She forced an easy smile on her face, and batted at Miller's upper arm. He flinched away, but barked a laugh back nonetheless. Keeping up appearances and all that.
"What about it?" Clarke pressed.
"It was holding part of the trap together," Miller explained, "And those traps were definitely not there a week ago." This time, Clarke's laugh was almost genuine.
"And no one of the hundred would be stupid enough to use poison oak after Monty's experience two weeks ago." Clarke filled in the blanks, and both boys nodded grimly at her. "Smart, Miller. What's the plan?"
"We're leaving one active, as if we forgot about it, and we're going to stake it out." Bellamy answered this time, drawing his shoulders up as he slid easily into authority-mode.
"That'll give us the who, but I'd really like the why." Clarke mused. Bellamy's hands resumed their roost on her shoulders and steered her up the ramp.
"Patience, Princess," He instructed, propelling her through the parachute as Miller took his silent dismissal and headed back into camp, "For now, you have a patient to check on." Once inside the dropship, Clarke blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted, spotting Jeremy sitting up on his cot.
"Clarke!" He helped, leaping his his feet and bounding towards her. In instants, he had both Clarke's and Bellamy's hands on him, forcibly holding him as still as they could manage. "I'm feeling WAY better! I am almost totally sure I wasn't poisoned with Grounder juice although I guess it could also be that I'm immune, which would be pretty cool, and I would definitely let you test out my blood if I am immune—"
"OKAY." Bellamy barked loudly, effectively silencing the younger boy as the same look of reverence Clarke had noted the night before occupied his features.
"Sorry Bellamy." Jeremy mourned quietly, drawing a chuckle from Clarke as she squeezed the smaller boy's uninjured shoulder.
"Grumpy here just doesn't like loud noises in the morning." Clarke teased, earning a scowl from Grumpy himself, and a soft smile from Jeremy, who for his part seemed hesitant to laugh at something the alpha male hadn't expressly declared funny.
"Grumpy wants a word with the Princess, Jer. Mind running out and getting more water?" The smaller boy was gone even as Bellamy finished, and Clarke marveled again the power of her partner's influence. She watched him watch Jeremy leave, and felt her earlier smirk soften into a genuine smile as she recalled his declaration of Jeremy's heroics the night before. He knew his way around his kids, whether he liked it or not, and Clarke was once again grateful to have him at her side.
His stare turned then on her, and her smile fled. The gentleness of his gaze after Jeremy had given way to the rawness she remembered from that morning at the cliff, when he'd bared his persisting guilt at Charlotte's death. For an irrational moment, she wondered if he remembered - it had felt so much like a different reality than this, the firm and unforgiving metal of the dropship - but of course he did. Bellamy didn't forget.
"What do you need to talk about?" She wondered, surprising herself with he softness around her question. His walls didn't rebuild, as she had assumed they would, and she recalled then the night that Dax had followed them to the bunker. That was the Bellamy here with her now, the pain and worry flush on his face.
"Jeremy wasn't supposed to be on that mission." Bellamy answered grimly. Clarke realized the significance of this information even as Bellamy began to continue, and she cut him off.
"You were." He nodded. Clarke swallowed hard, panic setting into her heart. Could the traps be targeting Bellamy?
—–—
A cliffhanger! Things are going to start to pick up now. Guesses? I'm hoping to incorporate a bad guy I haven't seen a lot of...! Hints!